


I Know You're Trying to Forget

by dawniekins18



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Child Abuse, M/M, Past Abuse, Protective!Rick, Slow Build, Therapy, vulnerable Daryl
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-01
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-01-21 11:16:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1548605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dawniekins18/pseuds/dawniekins18
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rick is a therapist. Daryl is a patient.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Muse was prompted my tumblr. Basically just a drabble at this point.

“Welcome to court mandated therapy. Please pee in the cup, take a seat, and wait for your,” the girl pauses to look at his file, “six months of government funded shrink time.”

Daryl glares at the annoyingly chirpy young blond girl at the front desk.

“Where’s the can?”

“Around the corner and to your left! Doctor Grimes should be ready for you in about five minutes, so please hurry!”

Fuck that. He was gonna take a long ass piss.

This was all Merle’s fault. It always was. His dumbass brother. His fucking drugs and stolen car got Daryl a mandatory six months of probation.

Which whatever. Easy time. He wasn’t using. He coulda made nice and peed regularly. Done some fuckin’ community service at the animal shelter or somethin’.

But he’d freaked out when the officer tried to put the cuffs on him. Ended up punching the guy.

That would a been a whole heaping load of trouble, assaulting an officer on top of the petty drug charges. (It was like two fuckin' joints.)

But while in lock up, that same officer had seen the scars on his back during the strip search. And the cigarette burns on his arms. Apparently they told enough of a tale for him to ask for leniency for Daryl. And now here he fucking is.

Obvious sign of childhood abuse? Send the loser to therapy.

He hated it all to hell.

But it was better than jail.

“Hello Daryl, my name is Dr. Grimes. I know you haven’t chosen to be here, but I hope we can still work together to help you avoid the type of situation that lead to your arrest.”

Daryl nods. He’ll just fucking avoid Merle.

“Is there anything you’d like to say or talk about?”

“No.”

“Ok. We’ll start with me then. I went to college at Southern Georgia University, and then I graduated from University of Alabama School of Medicine. I’ve been working for the county for the past five years, so trust me when I say nothing surprises me. I chose psychiatry over other specialties for a variety of reasons, but mostly because it has the most direct patient care. And I love talking to people.” He stops and looks at Daryl expectantly.

“I’m Daryl. Dropped outta high school. Ain’t been doin’ much since.

"Where are you working now?" Dr. Grimes asked after a pause.

"I don't know. I'm looking I guess. Between 'jobs' or some shit."

"You understand that finding and maintaining employment is one of the terms of your probation?"

Daryl shrugs. He gets confused filling out those applications. The print is so small, and they seem to go on forever, asking for information he doesn't have. Phone number? Address? References? All things that are completely out of his fuckin' pathetic reach. McDonald's is too good for him at this point.

"Do you have any jobs you'd like to apply for?" 

"No. No one in their right mind would fucking hire me."

"Why do you think that?"

"I don't know maybe it's 'cuz I'm such a goddamn catch. I'm all the workforce is missin'." Dr. Grimes doesn't look impressed by his sarcasm and just writes something on his stupid notepad.

"Alright. I'm going to bring in some applications for our therapy appointment next week and we can talk about them together. It would also be beneficial if you picked some up at a few at places you might wanna work at- then we'll know where to start."

"Fine." Like he's gonna ask for an application like he's fuckin sixteen years old. But he's pretty used to sayin' what people wanna hear.

"Anything else you wanna talk about?"

"Like what?" Daryl shifts, how long as he been here?

"What brings you here today?"

"I'm sure it's all in that file ya' got over there." It feels like forever but it's probably only been ten fucking minutes.

"I'd like to hear your side of the story. Police reports tend to leave more questions than answers."

Daryl bites at a hang-nail on his thumb. He's hasn't had to talk this much in god knows how long. "I don't know."

Dr. Grimes just waits patiently, note pad poised perfectly in on his knee.

"I guess my brother got me here." 

Dr. Grimes still doesn't comment.

"Or I guess I got me here. You therapy types don't take passing the buck too good, right? Anyway I got in a car he had. I should have stuck to walkin', especially considering I had a couple joints on me. 

"Why shouldn't you take rides from your brother?"

"'Cause of course the fuckin' car was stolen, and he was runnin' meth."

"Does your brother have a history of this behavior?"

Daryl snorts. "You could say that."

"But you still got in the car with him?"

Daryl shrugs again. Merle says to get in the car, he's gonna get in the car. 

"And what else happened that night?"

"Got arrested. Got probation. Got here."

Dr. Grimes watches him as he avoids any kind of eyes contact. That thing with the cop probably isn't in any file.

"Did your brother get probation and therapy?"

"No. He's in jail. Again." It was always the same. Merle got out, things were stable for a while, Merle fell off the wagon, and Merle went back to jail. The criminal charges changed but the pattern never did.

And Daryl was...in limbo. Surviving. Like he always did.

"Why do you think your sentences were so different?"

"He's got a lot of fuckin' priors."

"Your record isn't clean either." Dr. Grimes says it matter of factly. And it is. Daryl's fucked up a lot in his life. "Can you think of another reason your sentences might be so varied?"

"I don't know." He's tired of this. Gettin' agitated. He doesn't wanna talk about Merle. Or this. Why they're different, and how maybe they're exactly the same.

"What time is it? I wanna go." Daryl gets up off the chair. He reaches for the door, only to turn the handle and find it locked.

"I wanna go. Why is this stuck? I can fuckin' go. I don't like this." He pulls at the door harder, feeling his heart starting to pound frantically in his chest. He starting to feel panicked. Trapped.

"It's ok, Daryl. We only have twenty-five more minutes. I lock the door to control interruptions." Dr. Grimes is suddenly standing right next to him- speaking in a low, calm tone. "I can open the door for you, but you won't get credit for this session if you leave early." 

Daryl pulls at the door again, his chest feels tight.

"Why don't we go sit back down? You don't have to worry about the door. I'll worry about it, ok?"

Daryl hates this feeling. This out of control panic. 

"Come sit down. It's alright."

Dr. Grimes somehow manages to herd him back toward his chair while being very cautious about touching him. 

"I gotta go." Daryl is back in his seat but can't take his eyes off the door.

"Only twenty-five more minutes." Dr. Grimes returns to his seat but leans forward, closer to where Daryl is. "You're fine. Just breathe in...and out. There you go. You're doing great."

The tightness lightens ever so slightly as they continue breathing. 

As he start to calm down, the embarrassment start to seep in. He always freak the fuck out at the worst times. If there was any question about him and this fuckin' therapy...

So much for gettin' out on good behavior.

Dr. Grimes gives him more time to collect himself, but repositions himself in his chair, with the notepad. He must have a novel on the damn thing now.

"Does that happen to you a lot, Daryl?"

"No."

"It's nothing to be ashamed of."

"I said no."

"Do you want to tell me what happened when Officer Walsh put the cuffs on you?"

Daryl wants to fuckin' punch this guy in the face.

"I guess you just had a fuckin' front row seat to what happened."

Dr. Grimes waits. And so does Daryl. Ain't much else to say. 

They sit in silence for what must be five minutes. The tightness is completely gone from his chest and the anger seeps out too.

"Before we say goodbye for the week, I looked up the address you gave the court and found out that it doesn't exist."

Daryl's hackles immediately raise again.

"Why'd you do that for?"

"So I would know where to go for our home visit in a few months."

"Oh."

"Was there a mistake in the files?"

"Yeah, I guess." Daryl shifts, uncomfortable. 

Dr. Grimes starts to say something and then stops. He pauses another moment and finally asks, "do you have a home, Daryl?"

Daryl's never had a home. But he'll find a better fake address. 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++  
Dr Rick Grimes 10/21/2014  
Patient Notes: Dixon, Daryl 

Daryl appears to be struggling in multiple aspects of his day to day life. From his files, it's obvious he lacks a sufficient education and could be functionally illiterate. He lacks basic necessities and adequate clothing. It appeared as if he had not showered for a number of days before his first session. Upon questioning, it was discovered that he has been homeless for a indiscernible amount of time. He shows signs of abuse and his file contains case reports going back to before his first birthday. He has indicators of anxiety and depression. 

A meeting with the judge is being requested after the second session is completed. Daryl would benefit greatly from placement in a group home or halfway house. He needs intense therapy, and occupational help if the court ever hopes make him a participating and active member of society.

Inquiries will be made into the family court system, also request a meeting with the prosecuting attorney before proceedings with the judge. Expect intense backlash and resistance from the patient. 

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++


	2. Chapter 2

Daryl wasn't looking forward to his next appointment with the shrink. He hadn't done any other shit he'd agreed to do the week before, and he still was living out of his truck and camping most nights. 

He hadn't found a job, not that he really looked. He thought about it one day. But he didn't have anything clean to wear or nothing. And he didn't even know where to apply. Everything was on a computer, or so he found out when he mumbled something about an application to a teenager behind the counter at a Wendy's. 

So fuck it. 

Daryl didn't give a shit what some stupid doctor thought. He'd just sit through the hour and get the hell out of there.

"Welcome back Mr. Dixon!" The chirpy girl behind the counter says as she checks him off on her list. "You know the drill. We'll need a urine sample, and Dr. Grimes will be with you soon!"

He stalls in the bathroom again. Talking much longer than it should to pee in a cup. Trying to eat the minutes away on his hour of government sponsored torture. 

"Daryl, are you in there?"

Fuck. The bastard came looking for him.

"Yeah."

"Everything ok?"

"Yeah."

"Are you gonna come out?"

Jesus. "Yeah."

There is silence outside the door for about half a minute.

"Do you want to tell me when?"

"Fucking Christ. You know what makes peeing on command even harder? When someone is fucking talking to you."

"Alright. You can take another minute. But if you need more time you can try again at the end of our session. We really have to get started."

"Get away from the goddamn door, and I'll be fine."

Dr. Grimes lets out a sigh, but Daryl hears him back away and head back toward the lobby of the office.

He reluctantly finishes his business and puts the lid on the cup. He's about done with all this shit, and all these hoops he's jumpin' through. He wonders how hard they'll even bother to look for him if he just stops showing up.

He could really use a fucking joint, and he still got over five months of this.

Fuckin' Merle.

"So Daryl, did you remember to get any of those applications?"

Now he's stuck in this miniature office for fifty minutes with nothin' to say to all the question he's sure are gonna be asked. 

He didn't kill anyone. They ain't gonna look that hard. He could just go into the woods for a couple months. He'd do fine. Come back if Merle got released. But maybe not. He could just disappear completely. 

"Daryl?"

"No."

"Did you not remember?"

"I'm not stupid."

"I didn't say you were, I was just asking a question."

"They're all online."

"So you asked someone, and they told you to look at the online application?"

He jerks his head in a nod as response.

"That's real good, Daryl. I know it was difficult to ask. Thank you for your effort."

He wants to crawl under the couch. Disappear. Get away from this person and the attention. 

He just grunts in response and keeps his eyes firmly downward. Avoiding Dr. Grimes' eyes.

"What places did you ask? I printed out a couple applications I thought you might consider. We can look them over together, and we can practice your responses. You can go online by yourself to complete them later. Does that sound good?"

Daryl shrugs. 

Dr. Grimes must take that as a yes. He gets up and grabs a couple of papers off his desk. He then joins Daryl on the small couch with the papers and a clipboard.

"I picked up three. I notice you don't have a lot of work experience so I picked places that might not mind that. Obviously, if you aren't interested, just think of this as a rehearsal for somewhere you'd really like to apply."

Daryl doesn't respond, but that doesn't seem to phase him. He keep the genial tone as he starts explaining the papers.

"The first one I printed is for Walmart. According to the website they are always looking for part-time workers, and they hire a very diverse group of people." 

Daryl keeps looking at the floor. He isn't interested in Walmart or any of this. He wants to leave. How long has it been?

"Do you want to write it or would rather I just asked the questions and wrote the draft for you?"

"I don't know." 

"Ok then I'll write to start, and you can take over when you're ready."

Dr. Grimes begins asking a series of more questions. None Daryl feels like answering. Or even cares about. Name? Address? Phone number?

He has no proof of anything. The one license he'd had expired years ago. 

"Daryl?"

He stays silent, biting on a hangnail on his thumb. 

"Daryl? I know this is difficult, but we need to do this. You need a job."

He just shrugged. People have always tried to tell him what he needed.

"It's part of your probation."

"I don't have that stuff."

"What part?"

"Any of it."

Dr. Grimes doesn't say anything. 

"I don't even have a fucking driver's license."

"You have a truck, don't you?"

Daryl doesn't respond. Just ducks his head and avoids Dr. Grimes eyes. Again.

"It's old. The date's wrong."

"So it's expired?" Dr. Grimes asks.

"I guess."

"Alright. So we'll need to work on that too. "

Dr. Grimes makes another note.

Work on it. He doesn't need to work on anything, and he doesn't need this asshole telling him what they're gonna do.

"I don't have a fucking address, I don't have a fucking phone number, and I'm done with fucking doing this." Daryl is overwhelmed and frustrated by all this bullshit. What does it fucking matter? The probation officer isn't gonna take some petty charge to a judge for a guy who is too fucking stupid to get a job. The prisons are full enough. They keep letting fucking Merle out.

"Where do you live Daryl?"

The doctor doesn't give any reaction to his anger. Just keeps asking his stupid questions.

"Jesus, let the fucking horse die in fucking peace. I said I'm done with it. Can I just go?" He stand up and takes his cigarettes outta his pocket. 

"We still have fifteen more minutes."

The doctor doesn't comment as he lights up. He probably isn't supposed to smoke in here, but who the fuck cares.

"Do you live in your truck?"

"I live in fucking Disneyland."

"Are you squatting somewhere?"

"Christ. I have a tent. I make it work. Can you just fucking drop it?"

"What do you do in the winter?"

"I'm not sure if you noticed, but we're living in goddamn Georgia. I manage to survive."

"Ok Daryl. I noticed you haven't cleaned up in a while. Do you have access to water?" Dr. Grimes says it in a calm tone. Trying not to upset him.

He looks down. He is dirty. He cleaned up...a few days ago? In the river. But it wasn't as good as a real shower, and he doesn't have a lot of soap.

"There are lakes."

"Yes, there are Daryl. But that's not around the city. And I know you're coming here once a week."

He shrugs.

"It's been fifteen minutes, right?" He puts out his cigarette on his boot and starts pulling at the door.

"Almost, Daryl. I just have a couple more questions. Answer them honestly, and I'll let you go a little early, do we have deal?"

Daryl turns away from the locked door. "Yeah, I guess." He just wants to leave. And this asshole has the key.

"Are you eating three separate meals a day?"

Daryl feels his jaw tighten. "No."

"Thank you, Daryl. I appreciate your honesty. Only one more ok?"

Daryl gives a jerky nod.

"Do you have anything to eat tonight?"

The silence lingers between them for a long moment. He's stuck near the city for the night. Hunting ain't gonna be possible. And he ain't ever been any good at lying. 

"No."

 

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Patient Notes:

Daryl's home situation has become more clear. He does not have a stable living situation. He lives in a tent or his truck. He does not have a source of income. He is unable to bath regularly. After noticing his lower weight, he admitted to not having adequate food. Further inquiries will be made to the prosecutions office and the department of social services. Daryl needs a placement sooner rather than later. After his placement is secured, more therapy time will be requested and more discussion will be focused on Daryl's emotional deficits instead of the physical ones. 

Daryl struggles to talk about himself or his home life, present or past. He is easily upset and unaware or how to respond to his own feelings. It's obvious he struggles in social situations and has trouble articulating. This can be contributed to a variety of factors. -the abuse from his parent, foster parents, and possibly his older brother. Further efforts will be made to discuss his past in hope of understanding his current state of mind and emotional well-being. 

*Gave Daryl $20 for food. He wouldn't take it until he realized he could leave if he did, ending the appointment ten minutes early. His urine samples have been clean. And he looked hungry.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You might want to read chapter two. I was doing some editing, and things got weird.

Daryl had no fuckin' clue why he had to go back to court. When his public defender called his PO, and his PO told Dr. Grimes, he was more than confused. He was pissed. When he went in for his morning appointment and Dr. Grimes shuffled him to his car to go back to the courthouse, he was feeling mixed emotions. Sure, no therapy was a-o-fuckin'kay with him, but going to court was never good.

"What's going on?"

Dr. Grimes had a nice car. A fuckin' Honda. Figured. Foreign shit.

He pulls into a McDonald's parking lot.

"What would you like?"

Daryl shrugs. "Nothin."

Dr. Grimes orders some shit and pays. He grabs the food at the second window. 

Daryl ends up with a McMuffin and a coffee. 

"Where's yours?"

"I already ate."

Daryl fiddles with the sandwich. 

"Go ahead, we might be there awhile, and you didn't have a lot of warning. I'd feel bad if you got hungry."

Daryl takes a bite. "What's going on?" He asks again, around the food. 

"I requested a meeting with the judge after talking with your prosecutor and a family lawyer."

"Why the fuck would you do that?"

"You can talk over the details with your attorney when we get there. You would know more by now, but the courts only way of reaching you is through me. Something they were not very happy about. Especially considering I can only reach you after you walk through my door."

"Am I going to jail?" Daryl was suddenly nervous. It must have showed in his voice because Dr. Grimes softened considerably in his next response. Not that he fuckin' needed it. But whatever.

"No, we're just going to see what we can do to help you out. Your lawyer will fill you in while we wait for the judge. Which might be a while, we're on the docket for 11:30am but these things are almost never on time." 

They spend the next fifteen minutes in traffic and relative silence.

The clock reads 10:45am when they finally pull into a parking space.

"Ok, I'll show you where to wait." Dr. Grimes leads the way into the building and to an area Daryl's never been before. And he's been here a few times. 

"Here we are, he's still in court but should be done in about thirty minutes. I'll be back before then."

"Where are you going?"

"I have a meeting with someone about the case."

Dr. Grimes show him to a bench outside a much smaller courtroom than he's ever seen.

"I'll see you in there, don't worry. You're lawyer should be here in minute. I told him when we were coming." He reaches out his hand and gives Daryl's shoulder an encouraging squeeze. "Everything's going to be fine. See you soon." He walks away after giving one more pat. Daryl didn't generally like to be touched, but this guy was pretty good at reading when it was ok. 

He probably shouldn't have come along so easily. Dr. Grimes surprised him, and after his urine sample, they were just in his car. He has his own car, no gas, but Dr. Grimes didn't know that.

But something about the way he had just acted like this is what they were doing, no question, Daryl had followed. This doctor was good at reading him in general. 

"Daryl Dixon?" A guy in a suit with a briefcase and some electronic pad or something in his hand is standing in the hallway, looking at him questioningly. 

"Yeah?" The guy looks vaguely familiar. This must be his lawyer.

The guy nods and takes the seat next to him. He starts doing something on his computer thing.

They spend the next few minutes in silence until Daryl remembers this guy is supposed to explain this shit to him.

"Why'd I hafta come back?"

The guy looks up, "you don't know?"

Daryl shakes his head.

"Wait a second and I'll pull up your file."

He fiddles around for a second. "Oh right, this case. You're therapist requested a meeting with the judge about your sentence."

"What about it?" How does Dr. Grimes have any control over this shit?

"He thinks you'd be better served staying in a group home or halfway house. And he wants more intensive therapy for you."

"No fuckin' way!" The reaction flies out of his mouth without control.

That asshole. That fuckin' asshole. And he ate the stupid fucking McDonald's. He shoulda thrown it in his smug, doctor face. This was all a scam. No wonder they weren't waiting together.

His lawyer looks a little surprised at the outburst. "I thought you probably wouldn't agree. But he did send his recommendation file to me, and I gotta say he makes some good points." He looks back down at the computer thing. "You don't have a job, and it looks like you've never held one for longer than six months. You also don't have an address or telephone number, so we are all working on the assumption that you are homeless. Do you have a place we can tell the judge you're living?"

Daryl is shocked that they've been diggin' this deep into his shit. He's been through the court system his entire life, and they never put this kinda effort in. 

"I could say I'm stayin' with my uncle." He'd never step foot in that fuckin' house without Merle but they don't need to know that.

"Yeah, I considered that too when I saw you had family in the area. But this..." The lawyer pauses for a second, "Dr. Grimes, he's found in your juvenile records that you were removed from that house on two separate occasions in 1989 and 1995 after inquiries from your teachers. I'm sure he'll mention that to the judge. Also your uncle has been in and out of jail multiple times over the past fifteen years on drug charges, and since you're currently on probation I doubt that would make a good case for us."

"That was like fuckin' twenty years ago! How'd he find that?" 

"Well it seems he's been working with family court, the prosecution, and social services. He has a case that the courts have seriously neglected to advocate on your behalf going back to your brother's first removal from your parent's house in 1977. Apparently a official school found your brother alone in the residence, and it was obvious he had been left there for multiple days."

Jesus. He didn't even know about that. Merle was like five then. He ain't surprised though. They both had gotten much worse from their parents. That was just a warm up.

"What are we gonna do?" He know nothin' about a half house or whatever the fuck it is. But from what he's heard about the system from Merle, he doesn't want to go there. He's fine on his own.

"I have a couple of ideas. This kind of case it unheard of for someone your age, and a large part of his argument is getting you declared unfit to care for yourself. That is a pretty hard case to make, and while he has a lot of information, he doesn't really have anything that proves you're a danger to yourself or others. You've also been abiding by the terms of your probation pretty well. Your urine is clean, and you've been going to therapy. The job thing is an issue but not large enough for what he's asking for. "

Unfit? Daryl is surprised that he feels a sting of something at that word. He hadn't liked therapy but...he didn't not like Dr. Grimes. This guy must think he's huge fucking pathetic idiot. And that unexpectedly hurts.

"I'm going to motion for the case to be dismissed," the lawyer continues. "We'll have to stipulate that you'll agree to more occupational therapy, but that should be pretty easy. And maybe actually useful for you." 

"That'll work?" He's not thrilled with the idea of more therapy but it sounds better than all that other shit.

"Hopefully."

"And if it don't?"

"Then I'll ask for a lesser sentence upon completion of whatever they decide on. Three months instead of the six you were given."

Daryl thinks for a minute. "What's a group home?"

The lawyer checks his watch. "We should be called in soon. But it's like communal living but with expectations. You'd have a curfew, therapy, a job, and chores."

"What if I say no? Or just don't go?"

"Could be jail time. Don't worry about it yet. We'll see how this meeting goes. There is only one question I have before they call us in." He looks back down at his information. "A large part of his mental health assessment of you and the motion to declare you unfit is based on the testimony from an Officer Walsh. Do you know what he's referring to and do you have any more information about it that we can use in there?"

Fuck. 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Case File 24781:

Daryl Dixon was sentenced to six months in the Smithson Halfway House. After testimony from both his doctor Rick Grimes, and Officer Shane Walsh, it was established that Dixon was unable to care for himself adequately and was a danger to himself. Dr. Grimes requested the Smithson, for it's work with abuse and mental illness. The Judge Greene agreed and Dixon was scheduled to self surrender on Monday at 9:00am. 

Further court dates to plan release or extended stay are tentatively scheduled to take place in April.


	4. Chapter 4

"Daryl! Wait!"

The moment the judge says he can, Daryl goes.

His lawyer had advised him against sayin' anything during the 'meeting'.

So he just got to sit there while everyone fought over every fuckin' thing that's wrong with him.

And then they brought in that officer's testimony.

And he was fucked.

He knew he was the moment the lawyer mentioned it. 

But to hear it talked about like he wasn't even there. Like he had no opinion. Or nothin'.

Fuck 'em all.

"Daryl, stop!"

He slams through the front door of the courthouse and hits the steps running. He ain't a lot of things, but he can be fast when he needs it.

"Daryl! Daryl!"

He doesn't look back and runs down a side street. He disappears into a larger crowd on the on the main drag. The shouts of his name fade away into nothing. 

He's alone.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

His truck is still at Dr. Grime's office. He don't have any money to get back there. And the gas tank is on empty. He'll need to do something to get it out of there tonight. 

Without money, it's gonna be hard. Beggin' or panderin' ain't ever been his forte. He ain't to good at stealing either. But this is a desperate time. Desperate measures and all. 

He loiters around a Starbucks and takes a ten dollar bill out of their tip jar after asking for an ice-water.

The girl is nice as she gives it to him. Makin' him feel even shittier. Someday he'll come back and leave a twenty dollar tip. Maybe someday he'll have twenty dollars.

It's enough cash for him to take the bus to the other side of town. And he'll have eight dollars worth of gas between him and this fuckin' mess.

There have been worse plans. 

He waits until the last bus of the night. Dr. Grimes won't be there this late. And his truck can't have been towed yet. 

After the bus lets him out, he waits another hour until the streets are quiet.

The office lights are off, and there is no one around. 

He lights his last cigarette and crosses the street.

"Daryl?"

He's almost at his truck, but he jumps back in surprise.

"Don't run. I just want to talk.'

The anger he's been pushing down all day resurfaces and consumes him.

"I think ya said your piece."

"I know you're mad. And I understand why, and you're justified. I just want to know you're ok."

"I'm fine." Daryl throws the finished cigarette on the ground. He takes out his keys and unlocks the driver's side door.

"Where are you going?"

"Anywhere that ain't here."

"You have to be back here before nine on Monday."

"Yeah." Like that is ever going to fuckin' happen.

"I know you think this is horrible, but I promise it won't be. I'm not saying it won't be hard. But I-"

"I don't give a shit what you think."

Dr. Grimes doesn't say anything. Daryl stares at him for a minute then turns his eyes back to the truck.

"I'm goin'."

"Don't."

"Fuck you, I'm free for another thirty-six hours."

"If you go, you won't come back."

Daryl doesn't deny it. This is the last time he plans on seeing this asshole.

"So if you go, I'll call the police."

"They can't do nothin'."

"They can hold you for forty-eight hours without a charge. And I have an officer who I know will help me help you."

"You are outta your fuckin' mind!" Daryl slams the door of the truck.

Dr. Grimes doesn't even flinch. "You're not the first to tell me."

"Why are you doin' this to me?"

"Because someone should have done less decades ago, I have a lot of time to make up for."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Let me help."

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Dr. Grimes is driving, and Daryl is stuck ridin' shot gun again.

This time he stops at Taco Bell.

"What do you want?"

"Nothin."

He gets a quesadilla and a burrito. And a lemonade. He fishes in his pocket, and gives Dr. Grimes a crumbled five dollar bill.

"It's on me."

"Take the fuckin' money." He grumbles as he takes his first bite. Asshole won't even take his stolen money.

They pull back out on to the road.

"Where you takin' me?"

"Well it's too late for a shelter. And I really don't trust you to stay put at one either. So I got a guest room that you're gonna stay in for tonight."

"Ain't that against the rules?"

"Probably."

"Won't you get in trouble or somethin'?"

"Nah. I work for the government. If you hadn't heard, it can be pretty inefficient." Dr. Grimes says with a slightly bitter smile. 

Daryl just takes a sip of the lemonade and shrugs. "Whatever you say."

He figures the same rules will apply at this guy's house as the shelter. He'll fall asleep and the Daryl can slip out.

It's nice of him to care this much. Even after the things he said about him to the judge. It hurt to hear them from someone he...it just hurt. Because most of it was the goddamn truth. Those things were just fuckin ' kindle to the blaze of his miserable life. Daryl can see that the guy's trying to help. But he ain't gonna last in some house with a curfew and rules. More therapy ain't gonna change the past 

It's not in him. 

"I thought maybe we could have the session we missed tomorrow first thing. And then maybe Beth could help you out with those applications while I see my other patients."

"Beth?"

"The girl at the office. She's really sweet, and I think you'd work well together."

Daryl snorts. Yeah, he'd work well with someone sweet.

"Anyway, what do ya think?"

"Don't matter to me."

They sit in silence until Dr. Grimes pulls into the driveway of a small, but nice house.

"Here we are."

The house is dark, but it's after one in the mornin so that ain't really a surprise.

"Anybody in there?" Daryl tries not to sound nervous. But he really ain't into meeting new people on the best of days.

"Nope. My wife and I split up a couple years ago. And my son only stays every other weekend."

"Son?"

"Yeah, Carl."

He doesn't offer any more, and Daryl isn't that curious.

Figures this guy has a kid. He nags like a fuckin' parent.

"Ok let's go get some shut eye." Dr. Grimes opens his door, and Daryl reluctantly follows.

The inside of the house is just as nice as the outside and Daryl immediately feels uncomfortable. 

"Let me show you around."

Dr. Grimes points out the bathroom and the room he's staying in. It's small with roll out bed. But it's nicer than anywhere he's slept in a long time.

"There are towels in the bathroom. Let me grab you something to sleep in, and you can clean up."

Daryl hasn't said anything. But he doesn't seem to mind. Just keeps fussin'.

Like a goddamn hen or something.

Dr. Grimes says a bunch of other shit, but he kinda tunes him out. 

Apparently he can eat anything he wants. Like he's gonna take more from this guy. 

It would be a dick move to take his food before he cuts and runs.

"And we have to be at the office by nine, so I will see you in the morning." Dr. Grimes pats his shoulder again, like at the courthouse.

Daryl's surprised that it doesn't bother him.

"Goodnight, Daryl."

It never seems to bother this guy when he doesn't say nothin'. He seems to know the word are there, even when Daryl doesn't have them ready.

"I'll see you tomorrow." He adds this part with emphasis. 

That'd be nice, and Daryl would like that. But it ain't how it's gotta be.

The room at the end of the hall must be his, and when he closes the it behind him- it's thud feels like a punch.

It's a painful relief to know that he didn't even say anything.

Daryl never does when he lets people go. 

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Officer Report:

Daryl Dixon, age 35 was reported missing by a Dr. Rick Grimes. 

Dixon is scheduled to self surrender on Monday to a Smithson House.

Dr. Grimes was adamite Dixon will not be there, and that Dixon was a possible danger to himself.

All units began the search at 7:00am on October 11, 2014.


	5. Chapter 5

Daryl likes the idea of disappearing. It seems easier at this point. Ain't nothin' or nobody holding him here anymore. 

Merle's fucked himself. But Daryl's still free to go.

For now. If he stays a second longer in Georgia, that won't be the case. 

Social workers, expectations, therapy. All a waste of goddamn time. Like they're gonna take away all the shit that went wrong.

Like after six months he'll be able to read good and not wake up every two hours in the night, scared of all the things he can't see.

He's thirty-five years old for fuck's sake. And this ain't a goddamn TV movie.

"Where you wanna do this?"

"You gotta a hotel room?"

And yeah, Dr. Grimes wanted to do good by him. Twenty years ago, it would have been worth it. 

He's too used up for that now. He don't want those things. No point to it. 

"I gotta a truck in the alley."

So he's gonna buy a bus ticket, and he's gonna go. Maybe Kentucky. Tickets there would be cheap. Maybe Alabama, where it doesn't get as cold, or maybe it does. He don't remember much from school.

"How much ya lookin' to make?"

"It's gotta be $40." 

The guy nods. Daryl hasn't done this in a long time, but that seems about right. Doin' it for $20 was cheap ten years ago. And stuff gets more expensive over time.

They head into the alley, the truck looks like a piece of shit. But it's not like he can judge. And it's better than doing it outside where he gets all bruised from the pavement.

He doesn't like whorin', but he ain't above it.

Merle always was. That's why Daryl made sure to never mention it to him. But when he was younger, and Merle was in jail or so fucked up he couldn't talk, let alone take care of them, Daryl did what he had to. 

He's good at it too. It's easy. Easier than being looked at like he was stupid 'cause he couldn't bag food or couldn't understand a cash register. 

Things that are easy for everyone else, ain't ever been like that for him.

It doesn't take very long. Never does with guys who have to pay for it. The guy gives him $45. 

He didn't know people tipped their whores these days, but he ain't gonna say shit.

"Take care of yourself, man." The asshole looks pretty pleased. Apparently it's a job well done. 

Daryl nods at him as he gets outta the cab of his ride.

It's only a ten minute walk to the bus station from here.

The ticket is cheaper than he thought. Only thirty bucks, and he's on his way to Tallahassee. Florida wasn't his first choice, but it's fast and cheap. No one will look for him there.

His bus leaves in twenty, so all he has to do it get through the next half hour, and he'll be free.

He wishes he had a fuckin' toothbrush, or at least something to get the taste outta his mouth.

He's trying to figure out how to steal a soda from one of the vending machines when he hears someone call out his name.

"Hey Daryl!" His head whips in the direction, and he sees a guy who look pretty familiar from a distance.

"Hey." He has ticket clutched in his hand.

"I thought that was you."

The guy is fucking huge, tall with dark hair. Daryl knows he knows him, but he can't fuckin' remember.

He can't ever fuckin' remember when it's important.

"You going somewhere?" 

"No."

"Looks like you got a ticket."

Daryl doesn't respond, but he feels his breathing quicken. That trapped feeling, starting to surround him.

"Why don't we take a quick walk?"

He's really starting to panic now. He's heard talk like this before. 

"No."

"It's ok, bud. That feeling you're having now, I promise I get it. So take a walk with me, let's keep this calm. You're gonna be alright."

It's a punch to the face when he finally realizes it. 

It's him.

It's the fucking cop.

The one he lost it with. The one who went 'easy' on him. 

The one who fucking testified against him. Yesterday.

The recognition must show in his face, and he takes a step back from him. Walsh. That's the guy's name.

"Ok. Good. We're on the same page now. And you know I'm not here to hurt you."

Daryl always finds it funny when cops think their presence will reassure someone. Like people don't know what cops are capable of.

"Dr. Grimes called me. Asked me to come lookin' for you. He's real worried about you."

Sure he is. Everybody's real worried all of a sudden. Like he can't handle things. Treating him like he's stupid, like he needs help. 

He don't need nothin'.

"When I was a teenage, I liked to run too." Walsh moves slightly closer, and Daryl jumps back. "Ok, bud. I get it. I'll just stay here. And you stay there. That a deal?"

He doesn't respond, but the pig takes his silence as agreement. 

"Good, that's good. You're doin' real good." He takes in their surroundings, probably checking the exits like Daryl's been doing since the asshole showed up.

"What was I saying? Right. High school. I did a lot of runnin' for a lot of reasons. Some of them were pretty good too. But in the end, all I did was get lost. Lucky for me, I had a best friend who'd always pick up the phone, and him and his mama would get me home."

Daryl keeps staring at the floor in front of him, not acknowledging the words, the panic still thrumming under his skin.

"That best friend was Rick Grimes."

His head snaps up in shock before he can stop himself.

"Yeah, I know. Rick Grimes, Patron Saint of Lost Causes. And I'm gonna tell you, I ain't ever seen Rick give up on anyone. He refuses. So if you get on that bus, he'll hunt you down. And when he finds you, he'll make you feel real guilty for disappointin' him. But he also won't stop carin' or doin' right by you."

"I don't need that." Daryl mutters darkly.

Walsh lets out a snort. "Try tellin' Rick that. Hell, try tellin' that judge that. For some reason, a lot of people think you could use some help. Myself included, so... you can get on that bus and prove us all right. Or you can come with me to my squad car and start proving us wrong."

His hand is gripped so hard around the ticket that his knuckles are white. 

"How'd you get money for the ticket?" Walsh's voice isn't accusatory or judgmental, but it is knowing.

"Fuck you."

"You ain't gotta be doin' shit like that. I know how it feels like you don't have other choices, but you do. And comin' with me, right now. That's step one."

He doesn't move, and doesn't respond. They stay like that for a long time. Standing a foot apart, as the sun beats down. 

The bus headed to Tallahassee pulls away, but Daryl still can't make himself take a step in either direction.

+++++++++++++++++++++++

Officer Report:

Missing person Daryl Dixon was found at 11:36 am October 11, 2014 by Officer Shane Walsh. 

Dixon was signed in early to Smithson Halfway House.

Dixon is no longer a person of interest, and all units can stop the search. 

+++++++++++++

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a monster. But I think I finally found my muse and my direction for this.


	6. Chapter 6

Dr. Grimes is waiting for him outside the house as the cruiser pulls into the driveway.

"What's he doing here?" Daryl grunts in annoyance.

"He wanted to check with you before we go in, make sure you're ok." Officer Walsh is speaking kindly while he fucks Daryl over. Figures the doctor and him are friends.

“Hey.”Daryl refuses to look at Dr. Grimes as he climbs out of the car. 

”I’m glad you’re here, Daryl. I know you’re upset by this, and I know this is going to be difficult. But the first step is always the hardest. Things will get easier, I promise.” 

Asshole is goddamn greeting card and AA meeting all wrapped up in one annoying body.

He doesn’t respond and continues to glare at the ground in front of him.

“”I’ll go and let you get started here. I’ve talked to Dale, who you’ll meet in a minute, and we’re gonna have a therapy appointment tomorrow so we can talk about this transition.”

“Can’t fuckin’t wait.” He mutters under his breath.

Dr, Grimes reaches out his hand, and Daryl takes a step back before he can finish the pat on the shoulder it looked like he was intending.

A look of...hurt flits across his face. Daryl feels a flash of guilt immediately followed by anger. He shouldn’t be the one fucking feelin’ bad.

“Let’s go, Rick. You’ll see him tomorrow.” Office Walsh shifts on his feet, jerking his head towards their cars. “Stay outta trouble, Daryl. I’ll see you around.”

“Doubt it, asshole.”

Walsh gives him a look, but doesn’t say shit back. At least the guy knows to not kick him when he’s down.

“I’ll see you soon, ok?” Dr. Grimes’ body language suggests he really wants to comfort Daryl physically, but apparently the first rejection was enough because he just gently waves before backing up- his eyes on the house.

Daryl looks and sees and older man walking out, waving to the doctor.

“I got ‘em Rick, we’ll talk in the morning!” The man, who must be Dale, walks down the front steps.

When Daryl looks back again, Rick is pulling away.

He doesn’t like the way that makes him feel. 

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Daryl already fuckin' hates this halfway house bullshit.

And it's complete bullshit.

The first thirty fuckin' minutes of his time in this place is just rule after rule. Dale gave it a fancy name, called it 'orientation', but they’re fuckin' rules. 

He hates rules. Always has. He didn't get suspended fifteen times in two years of high school because he's good at following rules.

And these are some fuckin' rules.

"Because of your history of disappearing, your curfew is going to start at 7:00pm. I know that seems early, but it's for your safety. I want to make sure you're safe every night and to do that, I need you in the house earlier than most of the people that live here." 

This Dale is annoying as all hell. And he's a fuckin' prick. Everything he does, he adds that stupid "Daryl's safety" attachment to it. It's stupid and unnecessary. Acting like Daryl hasn't looked after himself for thirty-five years, and now it's all up to Dale. Dumbass.

"I've also created a very specific meal plan for you to follow. I worked with the doctor you’ll be seeing to come up with food that will help you gain some of the weight you need. It will also give you the nutrients you're lacking. I need you home early so we can make sure you have the time to eat, and we can go over your day together. Of course, until we find you a job- you won't need to leave the house very often except to go to your therapy and the class I've signed you up for- Which I think is probably for the best as you ease into living here."

At this point of their meeting, Daryl is really fighting the urge to flip the table and bolt for the door. Fuck this guy if he thinks they're spending that much time in the same room.

"Aren't there like other fuckin' people you have to watch or something?" Daryl can't help but grunt out. This is a house, where is everybody else?

Dale's smile was gentle, but his response is firm. "There are other residents here, yes. But their time with us is ending, and because of the sensitivity of your situation and my conversation with Dr. Grimes and Judge Green, we've agreed that my attention for the next few months should be singularly focused. And luckily, the Smithson House has the resources for that."

Daryl doesn't bother answering him, but stares at a small stain on the table instead. The kitchen in the house is large and warm, but obviously worn from the repeated use of its residents. 

"And we also didn't want you to get overwhelmed with a bunch of new people, Dr. Grimes knows how sensitive you are to that, so for awhile most of your interactions will just be with me."

Motherfucker. 

He wishes Officer Walsh was here to listen to this shit. Then he'd know the blame he was sending his way, but he’d looked fucking relieved to bolt. Fucker. 

"Let's get you upstairs to your room. I've stocked it with a couple of things for you. Pajamas, clothes, toiletries- things I thought you'd need based off your case file."

"I don't need nothing." Daryl mutters darkly. He don't accept charity. Never has. It's not something Dixons do. 

"It's ok, Daryl. I know it's a lot. But we're gonna work through this. For now, let's see your room and get some rest.You were up most of the night."

He bites his tongue so much he thinks he tastes blood. But he doesn't start cussin' at the asshole. Maybe all the therapy is working after all. The three sessions he's managed to sit through.

The room is small and clean. There’s what looks like a twin bed, a dresser, and a night stand. If he wasn't so fuckin' bitter, he'd acknowledge it's one of the nicest rooms he's ever stayed in. It even has a rug. 

"How about you take a shower? I’ll lay out some sleep clothes for you. And then you can grab some sleep.”

“I can sleep in this.” He bites out.

“Those clothes are very dirty, Daryl. I think you’d be more comfortable if you were cleaned up.” Dale has an annoyingly empathetic tone to his voice.

But when Daryl looks down, he notices the thick layer of grime covering him. He’s disgusting.

“Go ahead. It’s safe, I promise.”

Daryl barely manages to avoid rolling his eyes. He’s not scared. He just doesn’t want to use this asshole’s shower, but he takes the soap and shampoo without comment. 

“Your bathroom is connected through that door. All the rooms have their own small bath. It was a costly renovation in the ‘90s. It made life improve so much here- I’ve never regretted it.”

The bathroom is small with a tiny shower and sink. It’s clean through. The best he’s ever had access too.

Hell, as he steps under the spray, he can’t help but appreciate some of the hottest water he’s ever been in.

If only it was hot enough to wash away the past month, or the past year. If he’s was really lucky, it’d wash it all fuckin’ away. Thirty plus years down the drain- wouldn’t be much different than things are now.

“I’ve put some clothes on the bed, Daryl! I added a toothbrush too. I’ll be back in a few minutes to make sure you’re comfortable.”

He turns off the water. The towel is actually soft and not entirely useless. He catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror.

The weight loss is more noticeable now that he’s clean. The dirt hid things. That’s why he liked it, it was his shield.

The clothes are better quality than he expects. He pulls them on without really bothering to look, but he can feel they're not the cheap, threadbare shit he’s used to.

“You decent?”

Daryl doesn’t respond, but the door opens slowly after a long pause.

“You don’t talk much do you, son?” Dale has a glass of water in his hand, and what looks like a granola bar. “Thought you should probably eat something, and that you might be thirsty.”

Daryl takes the shit without a word then he drops down onto the bed. He takes a big drink and gulps down the snack. He’s never been one to turn down food.

"You can lay down and rest. I’ll come and wake you up for dinner, and we can talk more then." Dale walks out the door, closing it softly behind him.

Finally alone, Daryl sits in silence for a long while.

He finishes drinking the water, takes one deep breath, and slams his hand against the wall, allowing the glass to shatter into his skin. 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Atlanta County General

Patient Chart: Dixon, Daryl

3:30 pm 

35 year old, male

Twenty stitches added to right hand. Released to the care of his guardian, referred to psych but seeing court ordered therapist tomorrow. Follow up planned with primary.


End file.
